


E.N.E.M.I.E.S

by BrynTWedge



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eventual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fighting, Funny, John has feelings for Sherlock but is confused by them, M/M, Married Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock & Jim living together AU, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, domestic life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-06 06:18:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12811458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrynTWedge/pseuds/BrynTWedge
Summary: An idea on Tumblr by j--moriarty. John moves out of 221B, and Sherlock is left to find a flatmate to share the rent with. An offer by Jim Moriarty has him intrigued… and so he accepts. Hilarity ensues as Sherlock and Jim realise that they have to at least try not to kill the other every day. They find that they bond over science, have arguments over the pointlessness of chores, and even work together on cases (albeit in very different ways)… and that Greg and Mycroft always seem to be interveningAn idea of their lives being a sitcom like F.R.I.E.N.D.S ...but with a whole lot more danger.- putting this to a quick end for lack of inspiration -





	1. The One with the Strange Flatmates

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will be like an 'Episode', titled like they are in FRIENDS. 
> 
> And of course, their version of the theme song (original by The Rembrants):
> 
> So no one told you life was gonna be this way,  
> When you hate your flatmate  
> But your love has moved away  
> It’s like you’re always missing kitchen knives  
> When it hasn’t been your day, you’re hiding in your rooms,  
> Fearing for your lives…
> 
> I’ll be threatening you,  
> (When the clients come to call)  
> I’ll be threatening you,  
> (Through the madness of it all)  
> I’ll be threatening you,  
> (cause you’ll be threatening me too)

Sherlock huffed as he threw himself into his chair. John was gone. Not only was he now John-less, but he had to find a way to pay the rest of the rent. John had handled the finances, so Sherlock didn’t really know what situation he was in there. Really, John had handled everything. For as much as Sherlock had pretended he didn’t notice if John was around or not, he really did appreciate all of the little chores the doctor had done. And most importantly: how distracting he’d been. Even when they’d sit and do mundane activities, John’s presence had occupied him. And now he was insufferably _bored._

Moriarty had just been released from prison for his break-ins, the jury all finding him not guilty. Sherlock hadn’t heard anything about him since, and so couldn’t even think about solving puzzles in that regard. Well, that was until Sherlock walked into his living room to see the man himself lounging in John’s old chair. Sherlock said nothing, but began to make tea. 

“Where’s the short one?” Moriarty called out from the living room.   
“John moved out, as I’m sure you’re aware.” Sherlock stated.   
“Awh, such a shame. People always get upset when their pets leave them.” Jim cooed, stretching.   
“Upset wouldn’t be the term I’d use.” Sherlock said while he poured two cups of tea. He walked over to Jim, carrying the tray and placing it on the little coffee table.   
“Oh, I know what word you’d use, Sherlock. But I can see that you are, most of all, left _bored_.” Jim said, smiling. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but nodded.  
“Perhaps I should give you a little puzzle, Sherlock. Something to occupy yourself with.”   
“That is hardly the same.” Sherlock snapped before he realised.  
“Quite,” Jim spoke with a grin, “Then perhaps I should change my plans and move in here with you?”

Sherlock froze, his tea still half way between his saucer and his mouth. He blinked a few times at Jim. Did he actually just suggest that?  
“Why?” Sherlock managed to strangle out.   
“Because I think it’d be _fun_. You’re not boring like the others, Sherlock, and I’m sure I could entertain you.”  
“You… want to live with me?”   
“Come now Sherlock, you’re being dull. I had other plans for you, but I like this idea more. I owe you a fall, Sherlock, but that endgame doesn’t really end well for either of us. The way I see it, it’s a good chance to get to know you, at least. Know your enemies, Sherlock.”   
“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer…” Sherlock mumbled, remembering something once said to him.  
“Oh, I’m touched.” Jim breathed, putting his hand over his chest. Sherlock frowned. 

“Well… it would certainly anger a few people I am annoyed with at this time…” Sherlock considered. He was angry at John for leaving still, was angry at Lestrade for marrying his brother, and was just always angry at Mycroft. Maybe it’d make John angry enough to move back in even…  
“Brilliant! I’ll have my things moved in by this evening.” Moriarty shouted, adjusting himself in John’s chair to throw his arms up in the air.   
“I still don’t know why you’d want to _live_ with me.” Sherlock said.  
“Well… I guess it’s because it’s always been you and me, Sherlock. Everyone else is just ordinary. It’s so boring. Only the Holmeses come close to intelligent, but only you are interesting. Your brother is too … good. Although he has excellent taste in attire…” Jim mused, looking at the ceiling. Sherlock caught a gleam in his eye when he’d said ‘Holmeses’ that the detective just couldn’t place. That aside, it was an intriguing idea.  
“Alright.” Sherlock conceded, and finished taking a sip of his tea. 

~

Greg slammed the front door as he came home. He stormed into the house, his long coat billowing behind him. He didn’t bother hanging it up. Greg made it to the living room before he shouted out.   
“Mycroft!”   
“Hello, dear.” Mycroft responded, sitting in his favourite armchair, reading the paper with his reading glasses. He didn’t look up at Greg.   
“You will not believe what your brother’s done now.” Greg growled, thrusting both hands onto his hips.   
“With Sherlock, anything is possible.”   
“He’s bloody gone and gotten himself another flatmate! But not just any …”  
“That’s wonderful, dear.” Mycroft interrupted, seeming uninterested.   
“Mycroft listen to me! He’s got Jim Moriarty moving in!” Greg snapped. Mycroft paused, his mind calculating. He then put the paper down on his knee and turned to face his husband.   
“That is certainly unexpected.” Mycroft said, removing his glasses.   
“ _Unexpected?_ It’s downright insane! Your brother living with that criminal mastermind?! You surely aren’t going to let this happen.”  
“On the contrary, I will allow it.”  
“What? Now you’re insane! What the hell is going on with everyone?! First John moves _out_ because he loves Sherlock, and then fucking Jim Moriarty moves in with Sherlock and now you’re _fine_ with it all? What alternate universe have I stumbled upon?”  
“Desist with the dramatics, Gregory. I, of course, intent to watch them carefully. However this is a good opportunity to have eyes on Moriarty, and really… it’s saving resources, having the both of them in once place.” Mycroft explained to his frazzled husband. 

Greg sighed and collapsed down on the sofa.   
“I have a really bad feeling about all of this. I just know that they’re going to try and kill each other.”  
“Oh I don’t doubt it.” Mycroft said calmly, standing up and stretching.   
“What?”  
“I imagine that they will both make an attempt on each other’s lives on numerous occasions, however they are both too intelligent to succumb to it. If anything, the constant paranoia will keep them occupied enough to give the rest of the country a break for a while.” Mycroft said as he joined Greg on the couch.   
“And if one of them succeeds?”   
“Well, it’s become evident that Moriarty has a bigger plan for Sherlock.”  
“How do you know?”  
“I interrogated him for some time. His intentions were made quite clear. However this is an unexpected move, and I am curious as to how it will play out.”  
“Your brother isn’t just another pawn on your chessboard, Myc.” Greg reprimanded in a low voice.   
“Of course not. But this is an opportunity to learn much more about Jim Moriarty, and the threat he poses, than I had ever anticipated.”  
“You don’t think that he’s using this as part of his bigger plan?”  
“Perhaps,” Mycroft sighed, “But it doesn’t really fit the profile. It seems more that he’s bored, which is why he’s fixated on Sherlock to begin with, and this is a new idea to alleviate some of that boredom. I can understand it… even Sherlock is slow to me, and so you can imagine how dull my days get having to live around goldfish.”  
“Oi!” Greg interjected, his offence only half-jovial.   
“You are among the smarter of the goldfish, my dear. But you’re mine, and so you matter most in all of this world.” Mycroft soothed, placing a kiss to Greg’s forehead.  
“Yeah, alright.” Greg chuckled, and turned his head to kiss Mycroft properly. 

“I will have even more surveillance placed in my brother’s flat as soon as possible. I have some, but with the addition of Moriarty, I believe what I have is insufficient.” Mycroft mused.   
“Good.” Greg said, nodding. He then groaned.   
“What is it, love?”  
“This is just going to be a nightmare…” Greg griped. Mycroft chuckled and kissed him again, deeper this time. Greg hummed and returned the kiss, sliding his hand over Mycroft’s thigh. The air became filled with tension as their kisses became more desperate.  
“Bedroom?” Mycroft managed to ask between kisses. Greg’s sly grin told him all he needed to know. 

~

Moriarty had his men bring his most important possessions, which included his wardrobe and bed, into Sherlock’s flat. He only brought with him one gun… mostly for back up. There were so many more inventive ways to kill Sherlock Holmes. But if he was honest with himself, he was looking forward to their cohabitation. It promised some excitement in his otherwise boring life. 

Jim slept surprisingly well in the new environment. He stirred in the morning, and then snapped his eyes open at the feeling of another presence in the room. He sat bolt upright to see Sherlock standing at the foot of his bed staring at him.   
“SHERLOCK! What the hell?” Jim shouted. Sherlock just tilted his head.   
“I was just obtaining data.”  
“NO! BOUNDARIES!” 

Sherlock looked confused, as if the concept of boundaries was entirely foreign to him. Jim began to wonder just what had gone on between him and Watson.   
“I don’t give a damn what you used to do with your pet. I demand my own space and privacy. I won’t go into your room so long as you keep the hell out of mine! That’s basic flat share etiquette!”  
“I… I was not aware that this was an actual flat share arrangement.” Sherlock stammered, and backed out of the room. Jim groaned, and let himself fall backwards onto the bed. He then broke out into a bright smile. So far, it was perfect. 

Downstairs, Sherlock sat in his chair, his fingers steeped under his chin. Moriarty had seemed genuinely _peeved_ that Sherlock had invaded his privacy. There hadn’t been anything of concern in the room, either. It was more extravagant than when John had lived in it, but it was, by all accounts, a normal living space. Originally Sherlock had assumed that it was all going to be a ploy, some game that Moriarty wanted to play to take him out… but it was looking like he was actually intent on living there. _Interesting._

He heard footsteps on the staircase, and so Sherlock jumped from his chair and moved to the kitchen to begin making some tea. Jim walked into the kitchen, his foot bumping into the chair as he walked. Sherlock immediately sprang around, grabbing the knife from the bench and holding it out in Moriarty’s direction. 

“Oh, don’t be so jumpy.” Jim sighed, and walked passed Sherlock as if he wasn’t wielding a weapon. He opened the fridge and pulled out some cheese. Sherlock took a breath and laid the knife back onto the bench, and poured out the boiling water from the whistling kettle. He then took a sip, still eyeing Moriarty’s back as the man pulled out some bread to toast. Sherlock turned to walk back to his chair, but from the corner of his eye he saw Moriarty make a move for the knife. Immediately, Sherlock snapped back facing him, his hands held out ready to defend himself - tea cup with scolding liquid still in his right hand.   
“Relax! I need to slice the cheese, you idiot.”  
“Oh… of course.” 

Sherlock slowly returned to a more normal pose (instead of his ‘tea ninja’ look) and left the kitchen. He eyed Moriarty closely while he made himself breakfast. Sherlock snorted at the plainness of it all, and put his cup on his saucer a little too forcefully. Jim jumped into the air at the noise, flipping around to face Sherlock, knife in hand.   
“Now who’s jumpy?” Sherlock quipped from across the room. Jim sneered and flicked his head up into the air as he returned to his task. He then carried his toast over to the chair.   
“This is incredibly stressful.” Sherlock stated, expressionless.   
“Yeah, it’s brilliant.” Jim beamed, taking a bite from his toast. Sherlock slowly broke into a boyish grin.  
“Oh my god, I know right? It was so boring before…” Sherlock giggled. 

“So, like I said to John… potential flatmates should know the worst of each other. For you… that’s an especially loaded question.” Sherlock hummed.   
“You know it. What did you tell old Johnny boy were your worst habits?”  
“That I play the violin at all hours and spend long periods of time not talking at all.”  
“Oh please, Sherlock, that’s nothing. I would have thought you’d at least mention the body parts in the fridge. I find that most ordinary people take a dislike to that.” Jim said, while munching his breakfast.   
“John wasn’t ordinary, but yes he didn’t particularly enjoy my experiments.”   
“Hey, you do whatever you want as long as you let me do the same.” Jim smiled.   
“And just what kind of experiments do you wish to conduct here, then?”  
“Nothing major. I’m not going to start skinning people in the living room. I have more secure locations for that. Honestly? I want to just have a chill zone.” Jim said, stretching out into the chair.   
“Chill zone?” Sherlock enquired.   
“Yeah, just… a place to get away from work. A job like mine is 24/7, you know. I’m not all about the criminality. Even I enjoy lazing about to music sometimes. I need some me time, away from the boys. It’s hard to be king all the time. Besides, I can’t do anything too illegal while your brother is watching.”   
“You noticed the cameras?”  
“Assumed, and then noticed. But it doesn’t matter. Hello, Mycroft! Satisfying your voyeurism enough yet, or do you want us to start making out?” Moriarty shouted to the ceiling. Sherlock grinned. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of affection towards the insane man in his living room. 

Sherlock was surprised with how easily it was to converse with Moriarty when the threat of death or manipulation was reduced (not gone, but reduced at least). He had a very unique view on the world and its people, one that intrigued Sherlock. He didn’t agree with it all, but it was refreshing. Jim seemed happy to talk about science and the experiments that Sherlock conducted. It was strange at first, since Jim was the first person to ever take an interest in his experiments like that. Moriarty was honestly interested in the process and the research, and not just annoyed that it was in the fridge. He even added some anecdotes that Sherlock filed away in his mind, markedly not asking questions as to _how_ Moriarty had come by that information. 

It was three in the afternoon before Sherlock realised that they’d been talking all morning. Sherlock’s stomach rumbled, and so he got up to make himself something to eat. Jim returned to his room, and Sherlock heard the faint noise of music radiating down the stairwell. He huffed to himself. This was turning out a lot better than he’d expected. When Moriarty wasn’t trying to kill him, he actually was good for conversation. 

~

“So, have they tried to stab each other yet?” Greg asked into the phone.   
“No, they have been talking all morning…it’s been tiresome.” Mycroft sighed, the feed from his brother’s living room still up on his computer screen. He’d not appreciated the voyeurism comment from Moriarty, but he couldn’t deny that he did have eyes on every room of the house, and the men would need to strip sometime. He decided to delegate the task on to his staff. They could deal with it.   
“Talking? Geez, what about?”  
“Science, methods for deboning human bodies… you name it.”   
“Right. Well… I… I don’t know what to say to that. The moment he does something illegal, I’m arresting him… you know that, right?” Greg said, putting his feet up on his desk.   
“You need to be careful, love. James Moriarty is a fearful opponent… I do not want you to get up in the mix.”  
“I’m a cop, Myc.”  
“Yes, and you’re my husband and I refuse to let you put yourself in that kind of danger.”   
“I put myself in danger all the time…”  
“I am aware, and as much as I would like to confine you to the house, I believe you would fight me on that.”  
“Too right I would. I’d go stir crazy. Fish aren’t meant to be kept in boxes, kid… it does things to you.” Greg laughed.   
“Is it not enough that you made me watch that movie…” Mycroft grumbled, rolling his eyes.   
“You didn’t like it? I thought you said you enjoyed it.”  
“As much as I can like a movie about a missing fish…”   
“You enjoyed it, I can tell.” Greg concluded, smiling.   
“Shush, I can’t have my staff that are listening in on this conversation knowing I enjoy children’s films.”   
“On the contrary, I think your staff should know what a big softie my Myc is when he’s home.”  
“Gregory!”  
“Fine, fine, he’s a stone-cold ice man all the time. It’s like fucking a glacier.”  
“I’m hanging up.” Mycroft said shortly, having flushed bright red. Greg just laughed as the call was disconnected. 

~

Sherlock stood by the window, peering down onto the street below. A client was debating whether or not she was going to ring the bell. As much as he liked cases, interesting ones that is, he hadn’t anticipated on one approaching him on his first morning with Moriarty as his flatmate. He glanced over into the room, where Jim was listening to music with headphones and dancing to himself. All of the deductions he could see was that Jim was actually enjoying himself, and there didn’t seem to be a hidden motive. Sherlock tried hard to see the plans unfold, but he couldn’t. He was left to think that it might have just been possible that Moriarty really was just _bored._

“They gonna come up yet, or what?” Moriarty groaned. As if on cue, the bell rang.   
“Brilliant… this’ll be fun. I’ll be John… what does John normally do? Just sit about looking confused? Cause I can do that… look.” Jim rambled, and then pulled a face while making an unpleasant noise.   
“Just sit and be quiet.” Sherlock said, and sat in his chair.  
“Oh we sit in chairs? Sure, I’ll do that.” 

Jim took a seat, and appeared to be positively bouncing from excitement. Sherlock squinted at him slightly and raised his eyebrow. Jim gave a toothy grin in response.   
“I do this often enough too, you know… but they’re not usually boring like yours are.” Moriarty said.   
“They aren’t all boring.”  
“Oh, well… I guess we’ll find out.”’

The middle-aged woman entered the room and cautiously sat in the seat in the middle of the room. Sherlock looked her up and down: married, receptionist, has a cat, enjoys cross stitching.   
“Mr Holmes…and… Dr Watson?” She asked.   
“No, this is …”  
“Jim. I’m new.” Moriarty interrupted gleefully.   
“Yes. Anyway, how can I help you?” Sherlock said, his eyes flicking back to Moriarty.   
“I think my husband is having an affair.” The woman spoke. Sherlock looked her over again, and couldn’t tell from just a glance.  
“Tell me why you think that.” 

The woman then told the pair of men how her husband went out late often and she found a charge to a hotel room on his personal credit card, which he’d forgotten to separate from his shared account online. The husband apparently also would come home smelling of perfume.   
“That’s enough, Mrs… whatever you said your name was. It’s clear to me that your husband is indeed having an affair, and is either an idiot or doesn’t care if you find out about it. Thank you, good day.” Sherlock stated, sighing. Boring, as usual.   
“That…it?”   
“Yes, what did you expect?”  
“For you to do … something, at least. Not just tell me ‘yes’.”  
“Well, we could make the mistress ‘disappear’ if you like.” Jim offered.   
“No, we don’t do that.” Sherlock stated calmly whilst staring at Moriarty.   
“Oh, why not? It’d be brilliant! You could solve their puzzles and I could fix their problems! It’s perfect.”  
“I assure you, it is not.”  
“Come on, Sherlock… it’d be fun. We could call it ‘Jim and Sherly’s Solve ’n Fix’, like a cute little shop from the fifties!” 

Sherlock paused, considering this for a brief moment. It would be interesting… but no, he wouldn’t help Jim Moriarty commit crimes.   
“No.” Sherlock stated firmly. He stood up and went to walk into the kitchen, ignoring the woman still sitting in the chair. Jim smiled evilly, and gave the woman his card, uttering ‘call me if you want a _real_ solution to this’ before showing her to the door. Sherlock heard him, and groaned.  
“Jim, you can’t offer to commit crimes for people when they come to me with cases to be solved.”  
“Well, I just did, so it seems I can.”  
“Well you shouldn’t!” Sherlock snapped.   
“Temper, temper, Sherly. Stop being a little kid and get into the real world.” Jim cooed, while unwrapping a lollypop and making a show of putting it in his mouth.   
“Don’t call me Sherly.” Sherlock sneered, before slamming the kitchen doors in a huff.  
“Fine, fine. Listen, I’ve got to go out for a bit… there’s a thing with a bike. Anyway, I’ll be back later.” Jim called out. 

Sherlock slid the doors open and popped his head out.   
“What are you… no, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. When will you be back?” Sherlock asked.   
“Aw, look at you, being all domestic and caring.”  
“No! I only asked to see if I had enough time to poison your dinner.”  
“No, you love me too much for that. But I think I’ll bring home some groceries, just to be on the safe side. You want anything?”  
“… ginger nuts.” Sherlock mumbled, looking at the floor. Moriarty chuckled, and then nodded at him. Sherlock returned to the kitchen, and Moriarty left the flat. 

Sherlock had fallen asleep on the sofa before Jim returned. He stirred awake, and then jumped up. He was expecting something aimed in his direction, but there was only the dim light from the kitchen illuminating the empty living room. Sherlock caught his breath from the adrenaline, and then noticed something at his feet that he’d tossed to the ground when he’d leapt up. He picked it up, and saw that it was a pack of ginger nut biscuits. Jim had actually gotten what he’d asked for… and importantly, not tried to kill him with them. No doubt there was a photo on Jim’s phone of Sherlock sleeping on the couch with a pack of biscuits balancing on him, but that didn’t matter. Sherlock opened the packet and sniffed one. It seemed fine. Deciding he’d risk it, since he was actually rather hungry, Sherlock ate one. He continued to eye the staircase up to Moriarty’s room, and couldn’t help but think that the criminal mastermind wasn’t actually such a bad person to live with after all.


	2. The One with All the Revenge

Sherlock stood in the kitchen, in his dressing gown, fiddling with the lab equipment on the table. He rather enjoyed the freedom he’d been given regarding his experiments. Moriarty really didn’t care if there were body parts lying about, or if there was poison on the kitchen table, or even if there was a rotting organ left on the stairwell. Sherlock was tempted to push the limits of it, but decided that it would be a game for later. For the moment, just the freedom would do. 

They’d been flatmates for almost a month, now. Sherlock was surprised at how close he’d become to his sworn enemy. They really were very much alike, and they’d bonded over things that would be considered ‘a bit not good’ by John’s standards. Sherlock missed John terribly, as he’d expected, but the distraction that Moriarty was proving was just what he’d needed. He hadn’t been bored at all, yet. Sherlock still had rather strong emotions regarding his flatmate, but they were starting to waver between affection and hatred. Some days, Sherlock thoroughly enjoyed sitting in the living room chatting over tea. Other days, Sherlock wanted to burn down Jim’s room with him trapped inside. He was sure that Moriarty was in a similar position. It was always an adventure to wake up and see where the day would be headed: was it brotherly banter, or death threats? 

“Morning.” Jim mumbled as he entered the kitchen, not even bothering to look at the kidney Sherlock was prodding.   
“Morning,” Sherlock responded, “You’re going out on business, today.”   
“Yeah. Got a deal brewing. I even bought a new shirt and tie for it! What do you think?” Jim sung, using his hands to present himself before Sherlock.   
“Why would you think I’d have any opinion on the matter?”   
“Well, your type is supposed to have great fashion sense… or is that just your pervert brother?”   
“‘My type’?”  
“Yeah… well, you’re… never mind. Oi, Mycroft! If you think the tie is good, flick the lights or something!” Jim shouted to the ceiling. Sherlock rolled his eyes, and continued with his experiment. Moriarty had been occasionally speaking to Mycroft through shouting, but strangely enough, Mycroft had never come to the flat to respond. Sherlock thought that his brother would have loved the opportunity… he always did like to have the last word.   
_Perhaps he’s too busy shagging his husband._

Sherlock groaned at his own thought, shoving that picture as far away as possible. Strangely enough, Moriarty hadn’t given any indication that he knew Lestrade was married to Mycroft on the few instances that Lestrade had visited. That would be a nice surprise for him, one day, Sherlock decided. Perhaps a sneaky break-in to the mansion in the evening when they were both home. 

Jim went to the fridge to get out some milk for breakfast. He opened the door, and moved to grab the carton, when there was a loud squelching explosion. Sherlock immediately looked up to see what had happened… and saw Jim standing, frozen, with the fridge door open. Then he started to make a slow groaning noise. Sherlock peered at him, as he started to slowly turn around, and noticed that he was now covered in blood, bile, and assorted stomach contents.   
“Oh…uh… be careful, that stomach in there could … explode.” Sherlock said awkwardly.   
“You did this on purpose!” Jim shouted, his eyes flaring in anger.   
“Well, no, I didn’t intend for it to coat you once you opened the door…” Sherlock started, but was having trouble concealing his grin.   
“My beautiful tie… and shirt… they’re ruined!” Jim wailed. 

Moriarty stormed off to the bathroom, leaving Sherlock laughing in the kitchen. Not long after, a soaking wet Moriarty clad in only a towel emerged from the bathroom. He glared at Sherlock.   
“You’re going to pay for this.” He stated, his tone threatening.   
“Please, you have plenty of ties…” Sherlock said while rolling his eyes again. Moriarty walked off in a huff up the stairs to change, grumbling something about being late and doing the same in kind. 

~

Greg walked up the stairs and into Sherlock’s flat. The stench immediately hit him, and he consciously had to avoid retching. The pit of Greg’s stomach dropped at the first thought that popped into his head: that Moriarty had killed Sherlock, and left his body somewhere. The panic made him shout out, and frantically search for his friend. Sherlock came out of the bedroom and walked down the hall at the noise.   
“Thank Christ… I’d thought you’d died.” Greg breathed, only realising then that Mycroft would have told him if that had happened.   
“You worry too much.” Sherlock commented as he joined Lestrade in the living room.   
“I think I worry exactly the right amount, you know. You’re living with fucking _Jim Moriarty_. What is that smell if it’s not you rotting in the hall?”  
“An experiment; a specifically formulated stomach exploded in the fridge and got over the kitchen earlier today.” Sherlock said as if it was obvious. Greg knew better than to ask why.   
“And why on Earth haven’t you cleaned it up? Look at this place… it’s horrendous.” Greg complained.   
“You’re starting to even sound like my brother. I’ll keep my flat in whatever state I want, thank you.” Sherlock snapped. Greg sighed.   
“Just… clean it up, alright? John’s not going to come visit you if the place is like this.” Greg said, gesturing to the filthy, piled-up kitchen.  
“Just tell me why you’re here, Gavin.”   
“Right… well, there’s a puzzling case I could use your help with.” 

Sherlock questioned the ‘puzzle’, and decided that it was worth his attention. He grabbed his coat, and followed Greg out of the door.   
“Mycroft has allowed this arrangement of yours far longer than I anticipated.” Greg commented as they left.   
“I have noticed. I allowed the extra security merely to placate him.”  
“I am still against this, by the way. You don’t know what he’s planning.”  
“No one can ever really know that, Greg. As far as I can tell he’s doing it to entertain himself as much as I allow it for the same reason.”   
“You find lurking around corners in your own home entertaining? You think it’s fun having to test your food for poisons every meal?” Greg asked incredulously. He’d been keeping tabs on what was going on.   
“What would you consider a fun activity in your home, then, Lestrade?” Sherlock sneered, but was met with a look from Greg that made him not want to know the answer.   
“It involves handcuffs, some suspenders, music, and Myc’s umbrella… need I explain further?” Greg said, unable to resist himself.   
“Just tell me in detail how this victim of yours was found.” Sherlock stated stiffly.   
“It’s really weird, yeah. Some poor shop owner came in after their break, and found that the mannequin in the window had been replaced with a body. Wearing the same suit and everything the dummy was. We don’t know where the body came from or why it was done… and there’s no video.”   
“You’ve told me that already.” Sherlock growled.   
“Well what else do you want from me? Just go look for yourself.” Greg replied, rather shortly, but he wasn’t in much of a mood to deal with the younger Holmes. He knew it strictly wasn’t Sherlock’s fault that he’d been given such a fright, but he was still annoyed about the situation. 

~

By the time Sherlock got home in the evening, Moriarty had returned and was sitting comfortably on the sofa.   
"I didn't think you'd be that upset about your outfit." Sherlock commented as he walked into the kitchen.   
"It was really just a coincidence. The guy had it coming for a long time, and I just saw an opportunity. What did you tell Mr Scotland Yard, eh?"  
"That he had defected from a crime syndicate and was taken out for that betrayal. I did not feel it necessary to name you specifically."  
"Oh well that's a relief!" Jim mockingly sighed. "Not that you could have proven it was me, anyway. You could try, Mycroft, but it'd just be a waste of time on your part!"   
"He's not paying attention." Sherlock said before thinking, simply remembering what Lestrade had said upon his departure.   
"Oh, and how would you know, then?"  
"I... happen to know he's otherwise occupied." Sherlock said awkwardly.   
"Tied up with meetings still? Excellent." Jim beamed, clapping his hands together.   
"That is ... somewhat accurate, yes." Sherlock groaned, wishing he could delete that mental picture. His tone seemed to interest his flatmate.   
"Somewhat? What aren't you telling me, Sherly?" Jim asked, his grin snakelike.   
"I ... er..." Sherlock started.   
"Ha, this _is_ excellent! What's he gotten himself into? I think this is the perfect opportunity to test out his security...don't you?" Jim said as he jumped to his feet. Sherlock considered the options for a moment, and decided that he'd rather help a criminal mastermind break into his brother's house than have to explain Mycroft and Lestrade's sexual kinks. Sometimes reading people is not fun at all.   
"I'll get my coat." Sherlock said, smiling. At least this was going to be a nice surprise for Moriarty. 

Before long, the two men were at Mycroft and Greg's house. Sherlock knew how to break in easily, and so decided to assist Moriarty in the simplest of methods. They contorted themselves in through the deceptively small windows, and then stood in the darkened entranceway.  
"Why did you want to break in, anyway?" Sherlock asked.  
"I just felt like it, you know?"  
"Yeah, I do. But more to the point, what do you want to do now that we're in?"  
"Oh... I have the perfect idea. We shift all of his furniture and pictures slightly. It'll drive him crazy!"  
"Just because you found that doing so annoyed me, doesn't mean Mycroft will react the same." Sherlock said, a little louder than he intended. It had taken him a long time to return the flat to exactly the way he liked it after Moriarty decided to 'experiment' with messing with him.   
"Oh, so you think your brother wouldn't mind?" Jim asked, obviously disappointed.   
"Oh, no," Sherlock grinned, "It'd drive him insane, much more so than I. I've actually done it once before... he was _pissed_..." 

Jim stifled his laughter, and lead the way out into the living room.   
"What's that noise? I thought you said your brother wouldn't be home."  
"No, I believe I said he'd be too tied up to watch our security feed." Sherlock answered, his tone concealing his amusement. Moriarty shot him an unimpressed look, and then began following the noise. Sherlock grinned, thinking that all of this couldn't have gone better. Now three of them were going to be embarrassed; well, actually, now that Sherlock thought about it, Lestrade probably wouldn't be embarrassed. He seemed to enjoy making Sherlock uncomfortable with his openness regarding his sexual encounters. Still, having Jim Moriarty as a witness might be awkward enough for him to get a reaction. 

"Oh. _Oh_." Jim breathed, realisation suddenly hitting him. They were just a few metres from the bedroom, and it was very clear what was going on. Sherlock grinned.   
"You knew about this!" Jim uttered, and Sherlock continued grinning.   
"I don't know what you think of me but I don't enjoy walking in on people having sex." Jim breathed.   
"No, you enjoy creating chaos... and seeing my brother flustered." Sherlock whispered in return. Jim considered this for a moment, and the nodded.   
"Who's in there with him? I didn't think anyone would want to be seen with him let alone..."  
"His husband, Greg Lestrade."   
"No shit? Married? How long?"  
"Look they'll hear us and ruin our element of surprise. Follow my lead." Sherlock said, and stood up straight. He then walked with purpose towards the grunting and moaning. 

"Mycroft! Jim broke into your house!" Sherlock announced in his best child-like whine.   
"SHERLOCK!" Mycroft screamed, in an amusingly high pitch.   
"What the fuck, Sherlock?" Greg snapped, stopping his movements. He was much more annoyed than anything, and hadn't suddenly turned scarlet like his husband.   
"I wasn't going to do anything, I just thought I'd test it out. You made it sound so fun, Sherlock." Jim cooed, also entering the room.   
"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!" Mycroft screamed, fighting against the handcuffs that had his hands bound above his head.   
"Temper, temper..." Jim grumbled, enjoying the outburst. Sherlock looked pleased with himself.   
"Sherlock, I swear there's going to be some serious punishment in your future." Greg growled, his voice low.   
"Well, if it's anything like the punishment you enjoy giving my brother, I think I'll pass. Oh, and just so you know, leather cuffs instead of your police-issue ones would be more suitable in this situation to match..."  
"OUT!" Both compromised men shouted, and Sherlock flinched. He rolled his eyes and left the room with Moriarty in toe. 

Once out of the house, having been escorted to the door by (a very still-naked) Lestrade, Sherlock and Jim burst out laughing.   
"You were right, that was fun. Did you hear Mycroft's voice?" Jim said through his heaving laughter.   
"It was worth having that image seared into my brain. I'll just pack it away with the others..."  
"Others?"  
"Yes. They weren't very cautious in the years leading up to their marriage. Sometimes I wonder if they did it on purpose so that I wouldn't be able to keep deleting the information." Sherlock said.   
"I honestly didn't expect Mycroft to be married, but I suppose that it's a lot more normal a thought now that I've seen him like that. I wouldn't have pegged him as having a leather bondage kink." Jim mused as they walked.   
"Mycroft has been very secretive with his private life up until Lestrade... I can't tell if he's always had that or if it's Lestrade's doing. I would suggest the latter... he does love to see Lestrade in leather."   
"Ok I think that's enough information. I really don't want to know... I just enjoyed making him uncomfortable. It's not often that Mycroft behaves so vulnerable." Jim decided, and they walked in silence for a while longer. 

Back at Mycroft's house, Greg was grumbling under his breath while returning to the bedroom. No doubt that the evening was ruined.   
"I'm sorry you had to go through that, Myc." Greg said as he walked into the bedroom. Mycroft was still blushed, and was looking away.   
"I should be sorry, it was my brother." Mycroft mumbled.   
"Hey, it's ok. I don't care, that bastard can suffer with the image of my naked bum longer than I'll be embarrassed about it."  
"I admire your confidence regarding your body." Mycroft stated, and Greg could hear the hurt in his words. Greg carefully unlocked the handcuffs, and the ropes that still affixed Mycroft to the bed. He then embraced him in a gentle hug.   
"You know I love your body, dearest." Greg whispered softly. Mycroft didn't respond, but held onto Greg tighter and sighed in relief.   
"I think Sherlock was right about the cuffs, though..." Mycroft uttered while his face was still buried in his husband's chest. He then leant backwards to reveal his wrists, which had harsh red lines on them from the metal handcuffs.   
"Oh, shit, Myc, I'm sorry... I didn't realise..."  
"Normally I wouldn't be fighting against them quite so aggressively, don't fret. But I think perhaps we should do some shopping." 

Greg nodded, and sighed exasperatedly while dropping his head onto Mycroft's shoulder.   
"What is it? I realise that the mood has been rather ruined, however..."  
"No, no, Myc, it's not that. It's just... we've been married for three years, and now we have two kids."   
"Well, technically we've had Sherlock for far longer than our marriage."  
"Yeah but now he's got an annoying brother that likes mischief more than he does." Greg complained. Mycroft chuckled and ran his hand down the skin of Greg's back.   
"If only his boyfriend moved back in... that calmed him down." Mycroft hummed. Greg nuzzled his cheek softly.   
"Yeah. I might have a chat with John to see what went on there..."   
"Very well. And from now on, I think we should keep a closer eye on Sherlock and Moriarty."  
"Agreed." Greg said, and kissed Mycroft gently. 

~

Sherlock woke up mid morning, having had trouble sleeping the previous night. He stretched and then went to put on his dressing gown and head out to the kitchen. His sleep-rattled brain registered something amiss, and so he suddenly became much more aware of his surrounds. And that's when he saw it. His beloved silk dressing gown... was mangled and bleached.   
"MORIARTY!" Sherlock shouted, anger flaring through him. He stormed out into the kitchen, past where Jim was standing at the bench in a seriously unflattering jumper, and over to the corner of the living room where the skull picture was hanging.   
"Sherlock?" Jim asked, poking his head around the corner. He then paled, and slammed the kitchen doors shut. 

Sherlock stood from where he'd bent over in the corner, revealing a hatchet clasped firmly in his hand. Sherlock was too infuriated to say anything, and so just stormed out into the hallway to access the kitchen through the second door. Jim had slammed this door shut as well, and had hastily grabbed a knife from the kitchen.   
"SHERLOCK NO!" Jim screamed, terrified, as Sherlock thrust the small axe into the kitchen door.   
"MY DRESSING GOWN?!" Sherlock shouted though the splintered wood.   
"I... I..." Jim stuttered, the knife shaking in his hands. He had not expected Sherlock to react like that... and the events of the previous evening had made him forget that he'd even done it.   
"You destroyed something I loved, Moriarty... I'm going to do the same to you!"  
"I am specifically wearing something I don't love so that your infernal experiments won't ruin it!" Jim shouted. Now that the shock had worn off, the adrenaline surging through his veins was more of a welcomed excitement than a panicked flight or fight response.   
"I was talking about your face!" Sherlock responded, hacking at the door again.   
"Taking the revenge a bit far, aren't you?" Jim asked, backing away from the door, "But you've made the mistake of locking yourself on the wrong side of the door...you see, your bedroom is on MY side." Jim cooed, now standing at Sherlock's bedroom door.   
"The same to you, Moriarty... however I am the one with an axe, and you care a lot more about your suits than I do for what's in my bedroom!" Sherlock screamed, and then began to storm up the stairs.   
"MY WESTWOOD!" Jim shouted in alarm, and tore after Sherlock. He was in such a frantic rush to save his suit, that he didn't even see the man standing in the hallway... and subsequently, crashed into him. At least it wasn't knife-first... that could have been awkward. The man reacted instantly, however, and managed to grab the knife out of Jim's hands and twist his body around. 

"Moriarty!" Greg Lestrade shouted, looking flustered as if he'd run there - and so looking intimidating holding the knife.   
"He's going to kill my suit!" Jim whined, adjusting his balance before hurrying up the stairs. Greg groaned, and grabbed onto the neck of the overly large, beige turtleneck sweater Moriarty was wearing.   
"Oi!" Jim started to protest, but was silenced quickly.   
"Stay here! I will get him." Greg growled, obviously unimpressed. He then stamped up the staircase calling after Sherlock. 

"Oh, Lestrade... nice to see you, wearing clothes." Sherlock said with an eerily cheery voice whilst sticking his head out of the door to John's old room.   
"Give me the axe, Sherlock."   
"Where?" Sherlock asked innocently.   
"SHERLOCK." Greg growled in his best angry-parent tone. He was pleased that it seemed to work, as Sherlock rolled his eyes and opened the doorway completely. It was no wonder that Moriarty even jumped at his appearance; he looked deranged with his bleached, tattered dressing gown, scruffy curls, and crazed eyes, while holding a hatchet in one hand and half a mangled tie in the other. Greg stood impatiently and held out the hand that wasn't holding the knife he'd confiscated from Moriarty. Sherlock groaned and thrust the handle of the axe into his hand. 

"Do you mind telling me what this was all about?" Greg asked. Sherlock huffed, and so Greg simply grabbed him by the collar as well and dragged him down the stairs. If they were going to behave like children (albeit homicidal children) then he would treat them like children. Once the three men were on the landing, Greg tossed the weapons behind him on the floor.   
"Now, start explaining." Greg snapped, his hands on his hips. He let his head fall forward as both men started blabbering at the same time.   
"For Christ's sake, one at a time!" 

Sherlock snapped his mouth shut and sneered in Moriarty's direction.   
"Sherlock destroyed my brand new shirt and tie." Jim said, trying hard to sound serious and failing spectacularly.   
"It was an accident. I had an experiment in the fridge and it happened to explode as Moriarty opened the door and created a temperature differential."   
"Yes... but you didn't mention that your experiment was a _stomach_ and I was then coated in blood, bile, vomit, and pieces of stomach. That doesn't wash out!"   
"Alright, alright... what happened then?" Greg said, taking a deep breath.   
"Then, I sought my revenge by destroying something of Sherlock's. His dressing gown." Jim stated, and Sherlock flinched while looking at his pathetic dressing gown.   
"Which was completely uncalled for as your clothing accident was that: an accident. Done without malice." Sherlock said, crossing his arms.   
"Right... and so, then what? You decided to hack Jim to bits because he bleached your gown?" Greg said sarcastically, and then his eyes blew wide at Sherlock's avoidant gaze.   
"What, seriously? That's it? Fuck Sherlock, you don't commit murder because someone bleached your clothes!"  
"I think my motives are perfectly-" Sherlock began, and Jim started complaining over him. Greg had enough.   
"No, shut up. Both of you. One more word from either of you and you're both grounded!"  
"I'm not a child, Lestrade. You can't-" Sherlock grumbled, and was met with a livid gaze from the detective.   
"I bloody well can, and I will. If you're going to act like children then I'll speak to you like children until you decide you want to be grown-ups again, got it? Now, I'm going to say this once and once only. Violence does not solve anything, especially not domestic disputes. I know you aren't going to listen to that, but I'm saying it now so that next time I come here, I can arrest you both."  
"Ergh," Jim groaned, "You make it sound like we're married. 'Domestic disputes'? Please. I'm not married to a Holmes!"   
"Well I AM!" Greg shouted. "Sort this out or next time I'm just throwing you both into the cells. You've already ruined my evening, and now you're putting a foul mood on my day. I am not a man of endless patience, regardless of what you might believe, Sherlock. If there's one thing I've learned since marrying Mycroft, it's that I do not have to put up with any of your shit that I don't chose to." 

Sherlock grumbled something incoherent, and then stormed off like a petulant child. Greg then rounded on Moriarty.   
"I am against this living arrangement. I am willing to look past some things against my better judgement, provided that you give me some cooperation. I know you've been enjoying the chaos, and I don't want to take that away from you, but so help me if you actually hurt him..."  
"You're protective of your family, I understand. An admirable quality, if not a little ill-advised." Moriarty spoke cooly, but he was honestly impressed with the Inspector's attitude.   
"Perhaps if you had one, you'd realise what that means." Greg sneered, a little harsher than he originally intended. The comment seemed to be enough to make Moriarty shut his mouth and nod. Greg smiled briefly, seeing just how important this all was to the man. Enough to not risk it ending suddenly.

Greg left the flat, and managed to breathe finally. It was scary, standing off against Jim Moriarty. He knew what that criminal could do, and knew what he was willing to do. He took a moment to steady himself before returning to work. 

Sherlock stuck his head out of his room once there was silence again, and saw Moriarty standing in the kitchen. Jim noticed and looked back at him.   
"I'm sorry about the stomach." Sherlock grumbled. He knew he had to mend the situation, or at least try. Jim nodded and sighed.   
"I'm sorry about your dressing gown."   
"I'm sorry about your tie." Sherlock responded.   
"My tie?" Jim asked, confused. Sherlock then gave him a sheepish look, and held up half of a mangled tie in his hand. Jim's jaw dropped slightly, and then his eyebrows furrowed in anger. Sherlock quickly pulled his head in from the doorway and shut his bedroom door forcefully. 


End file.
